


Kiss Me Like Your Boyfriend

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (f_ing_ruthless_baz)



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coming Out, Drinking, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_ing_ruthless_baz/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: Alex spends the night on my sofa—I offer to let him share my bed, but he claims he’s too exhausted to move for at least ten hours—and leaves shortly after waking the next morning. (Fewer than ten hours later, might I add.)I’m used to it by now. To his routine.Get drunk, fool around, pass out, leave.It’s simple. Efficient. Uncomplicated.Well, for him.For him it’s just getting off. A bit of a laugh. A way to pass the time. It’s not making his entire world collapse in on itself, piece by piece. He’s not falling desperately, hopelessly, pathetically in love.Henry and Alex have been friends since they started university last year, but their friendship has gotten more complicated. It's all a terrible idea, of course; Henry is too in love, and Alex is... not. Right?





	Kiss Me Like Your Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> By the time I was part way through my second read-through of the book, I decided I just _had_ to write something for these loveable idiots, because reasons. I'm still getting the hang of of writing these characters, of course, but this was a lot of fun and I hope to do more.
> 
> The story itself is just a generic university AU--no royalty, no politics, sorry--inspired by the song ["Boyfriend" by Tegan and Sara.](https://open.spotify.com/track/0euRZeEKvdbptPpebwDtLc?si=YOAex1EET9-TT_bZ5ACMOw)

“Hurry up, _Mr. Darcy_,” Alex says behind me, snickering and lifting the tail of my jacket as I try to unlock the door to my flat.

I swing my arm back to swat him away. “Fuck off,” I say, though I’m laughing too much to be taken seriously, I expect.

I twist the handle when the lock clicks, and nearly tumble into my flat as the door opens. Alex is not far behind, and when I stop myself from collapsing onto the floor, he crashes into my back.

“Christ, man. Get your brake lights checked,” he says, and gives me a quick smack on the behind as he passes. He strolls into my flat and flicks on the light, like he owns the place. He might as well; he’s here often enough.

It’s not always like this, though. He usually spends far less time smacking my behind and far more time watching the news or studying in my lounge, while I keep him hydrated and caffeinated. On occasion, however, it is like this.

He pulls off his Captain America mask and complains about the havoc it must have wreaked on his hair, as he tries to ruffle it back into its usual effortlessly tousled state. (I laughed when I first saw Alex in his costume tonight, on our way to the party, but he just smirked and said he hoped he’d piss off a lot of bigots.)

“Your hair always looks good, and you know it,” I say as I continue past him, though he catches me by the arm before I can get far.

“My, Henry, was that a compliment?” He grins and gives my arm a swift tug, causing me to stumble closer.

I swallow and make a point not to look at him. “Yes, well. We all do stupid things when we drink, don’t we?”

“Hm, true,” he says. He’s smirking at me again when I glance down at him, but before I can even think of something clever to say, he’s taking hold of my jacket collar in his fists and pulling me in for a kiss.

It’s good, too. It’s always good. I could lose myself in his kiss—and I often do. I let myself have this now, though, as he urges me back against the wall until I’m sat upon the small table shoved against it, knocking my unread mail to the floor. We haven’t even made it past the entryway this time. That’s a first.

He wastes no time in pushing my jacket off my shoulders, letting it crumple around my hips, as I widen my knees for him to crowd in. I bury my fingers in his hair with one hand while I lift the back of his cheap Halloween costume with the other and press it into the small of his back. He gasps against my lips—I think my hand is a bit cool—but carries on, and starts fussing with my cravat.

“What the—” Alex grumbles when he stops to look at what he’s doing. “How… Jesus, fuck, Henry. How did dudes in medieval times ever get laid?”

I huff, though I know he’s only being facetious to get to me. “It’s Regency. Not medieval.”

“Who fucking cares?” He laughs and twists the ends around his fist to pull my mouth to his again. He maintains his grip on it, even as he unfastens my waistcoat with his free hand, and untucks the hem of my shirt. “On second thought, maybe I like this.”

By the time he drags me by the neck through to the lounge and deposits me delicately—or rather, _shoves me backwards_—onto the sofa, we’re both partially undressed and unzipped. My cravat now hanging in disarray around my neck.

He’s straddling me in an instant, pushing me back into the cushions and sucking the air out of my lungs. I want him to devour me whole and leave nothing behind. No part of me left to remember this, come morning. No part of me left to long for his touch again. No part of me left to care.

* * *

Alex spends the night on my sofa—I offer to let him share my bed, but he claims he’s too exhausted to move for at least ten hours—and leaves shortly after waking the next morning. (Fewer than ten hours later, might I add.)

I’m used to it by now. To his routine. _Get drunk, fool around, pass out, leave_. It’s simple. Efficient. Uncomplicated.

Well, for him.

For him it’s just getting off. A bit of a laugh. A way to pass the time. It’s not making his entire world collapse in on itself, piece by piece. He’s not falling desperately, hopelessly, pathetically in love.

I told myself last time that I was going to stop letting it happen. The feeling when he leaves is so much worse than the hangover ever is. And yet. I’m terribly weak when it comes to all things Alex—one bat of his eyelashes and I’m done for every time.

In fact, ever since he first kissed me, I told myself I wouldn’t do it again. That it could only lead to disaster. But when I’ve been drinking, and he’s been drinking, and he’s laughing and nestling against me and looking up at me with that positively _sinful_ look he gets when he leans in for a kiss…

Well, I never stood a chance, did I?

It was so much easier before, when all my feelings for him could be properly sealed up and contained, without risk of spilling out and destroying everything.

I remember seeing him the first day I moved into the residence hall last year—first year students are required to live on campus—and I knew he was trouble from the start. I did my best to keep my distance, which was difficult when I lived across the hall from him. Despite a rather rocky start to our interpersonal relationship, however, involving a misunderstanding in the laundry room, we quickly became inseparable.

He was the first real friend I made since coming to America, and certainly one of the closest friends I’ve ever had—even discounting the fact that we occasionally snog when we’re drunk.

It didn’t even change anything, when it happened the first time, at the end of last term. Or the second time, at the beginning of this term. Or any time since. I’m actually impressed with the way he’s managed to avoid any semblance of _gay panic_ caused by our intermittent dalliance, though I always wonder if this will be the time he finally says something about it.

It never is.

* * *

I don’t see Alex again until the following week—lately he’s been positively bogged down with assignments. We’ve texted in the meantime, of course, but this is the first mutual gap in our schedules: A quick on-campus lunch break between my lecture in the morning and his seminar in the afternoon.

I’m not at all surprised when June and Nora join us, as they so often do. I am, however, slightly disappointed. I shouldn’t be, though. I adore June and Nora, and I would, even if they weren’t Alex’s sister and close friend, respectively. But I’d been hoping for a chance to speak with Alex, alone.

Maybe this is for the best, actually.

“Oh! I’ve been meaning to ask,” June says, interrupting the flow of their conversation to hit Alex in the arm with the back of her hand. “Are you bringing someone to Cousin Greg’s wedding? I need to know what size car to rent.”

“Ah, shit,” Alex groans, tilting his head back in exasperation. “That’s next week, isn’t it?”

“I’m guessing that’s a no, then?”

He looks over at Nora with his eyebrows up, like he’s silently asking her a question. To which the answer seems to be _no_.

“Sorry, babe, I have way too much to do next week,” she says, before munching on a French fry—that in no way resembles a proper chip. “Also, your cousin Greg’s a dick.”

“Well, we know that, obviously!” says June.

Alex sighs. “Ugh, I hate going to weddings alone.”

“Agreed,” I say. I look down at my half-eaten lunch to avoid meeting his eye, for fear that it will be written all over my face. _Take me, then_. _Or, better yet, don’t go at all and just have me in my flat._

“It won’t be so bad,” June assures him. “You’ll have people to talk to. I’ll be there. It’s an open bar. You’ll be fine.”

“I guess…” he says, though he doesn’t sound convinced. He steals one of Nora’s fries and she smacks his hand away.

I finally hazard another glance in his direction, and he gives a little shrug when I catch his eye. I almost think he’s trying to say something, but of course he isn’t. Of course.

* * *

I still haven’t fallen asleep by the time my phone rings, but I know that no reasonable person would be calling me at this hour. I consider dismissing it and returning to my attempt at sleep, but I’m only kidding myself.

“You absolute nightmare,” I grumble when I answer, without even glancing at the caller’s name on my screen. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you were asleep,” Alex laughs on the other end. “I know you too well for that.”

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this midnight call?”

“First of all, it’s three,” he says. “And I’m calling because I just got in from a very shitty car ride back from a very shitty wedding, and I could use a friendly voice right about now. But I’ll settle for yours.”

“I’m touched.”

He snorts.

“What was so shitty, then?” I ask. “Did something happen?”

“Oh. No, not really,” he says, and I can hear his bed creak as he shuffles around on it, presumably trying to get comfortable. He yawns. “It was just. _Boring. A. F._”

“How unfortunate. Go to sleep, Alex.”

He makes some garbled noise, akin to a disgruntled verbal keyboard smash. “You’re boring, too, you know that?”

“I do, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He snorts again.

“Well, if that’ll be all—”

“Tell me a story,” he says, a slight whine in his voice. It’s hard for me not to laugh.

“You’re a big boy; you can go to bed without story time, can’t you?”

“Yeah, but that’s no fun.”

“Welcome to adulthood.”

“_Pass_.”

“I don’t think you can pass on that.”

“I just”—another yawn—“want you to keep talking. Read me one of your short stories.”

“I already let you read those,” I point out, even though a fresh wave of embarrassment washes over me every time I bring it up. I wish I’d never let him read them, frankly, but he was very insistent. (I didn’t actually think he was that fond of them, though.)

“That’s not the same as hearing you read them,” he says, his voice getting quieter as he winds down.

“They’re awfully depressing for this time of night, don’t you think?”

Most of the inspiration for my stories comes from my own life. Growing up queer in a conservative family, losing my father at a young age, falling hopelessly in love with my best friend—admittedly, I never let him read that one.

“I don’t think they’re depressing,” he says. “I think they’re inspiring.”

“Oh, god, you just skimmed them, didn’t you?” I say, only half-joking.

“Sir, I am offended at the accusation!”

“My mistake.”

“I mean it, though,” he adds, adopting a more serious tone. “It’s like… Yeah, bad shit happens and things are tough and it’s hard, you know? It’s hard to keep going, sometimes, but then we do. We keep going and we collect those—those little moments of good. And they don’t erase the bad, but they’re still good, yeah? Just, little bits that make it, like, not total shit all the time.”

I take a minute to let his words sink in, partially because some of them were slurred together, and partially because I’d never thought of it that way. I just thought they were depressing.

“Henry?” he whispers. “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m just… thinking.”

“‘Bout what?”

“About how I can see why you’re not an English major.”

“Rude.”

I chuckle softly.“Why don’t you just find an audiobook, hm?”

“But I like listening to you talk,” he says. “Your voice, it’s, y’know… soothing, or whatever.”

“You’re saying my voice puts you to sleep? How flattering.”

“Yeah, but in, like, a sexy way.” I can practically hear him smirking.

“Right.” I cough. “Well. I should probably—”

“Right, right. Yeah. It’s late.” He clears his throat as well. “I’ll, uh, see you. Soon. Tomorrow. Today? What day is it?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Wait—Henry?”

“Yes?”

“Um…” He exhales audibly, as though he’s trying to think of what to say next. “Yeah, never mind. G’night.”

“Goodnight. Absolute Nightmare.”

* * *

The final weeks of the term go by in a blur of late night essays and too much coffee, and before I can so much as sigh in relief after my last exam, I find myself whisked off to celebrate with Alex and the girls.

It’s not my choice of venue, the karaoke bar, but Alex plies me with enough liquid courage that I get up and belt one out. I suspect I’ll regret that in the morning. Then again, what else is new?

We stay until last call before stumbling down the road towards the small house that the three of them share, just a few streets over. June clings to my arm, as though she’d topple over without me, while Alex is draped against Nora’s side as they stagger ahead of us.

I pull out my mobile once we reach their front step to call myself an Uber, but June nearly smacks it out of my hand when she pushes it away.

“You should stay,” she says. “Alex is making pancakes in the morning.”

He turns to his sister while Nora unlocks their door. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“It’s fine,” I say, thinking about the questionable origin of their sofa and how none of the cushions are the same density, somehow.

“You’re too fucking polite for your own good, you know that?” Alex says, reaching for my other arm and hooking his around it.

I don’t put up much of a fight while the Claremont-Diaz siblings drag me into their house. I just laugh with them as we trip over our own boots and try to hang all our jackets onto one flimsy coat rack. Nora gets us each a mugful of water to gulp down in the kitchen before she and June head upstairs to their respective rooms for the night.

Alex’s room is on the main level, just off the living room, but he stops when he reaches his door and looks back at me. “You coming?”

“Oh, I, er—”

“That couch is shit for sleeping on,” he says. “Trust me.” He motions with his head for me to follow him, so I do.

Getting into bed with Alex tonight is not nearly as thrilling as it could be, since I’ve been tense around him for weeks. More so than usual. We haven’t, well, _done_ anything since Halloween—we’ve hardly had a chance—and I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.

I clasp my hands over my chest as I lie on my back, facing the ceiling and waiting for sleep to take me. Alex shifts onto his side, towards me, and pokes me in the shoulder.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hm?”

“You…” He swirls his fingertip absently along the sleeve of my T-shirt. “You were really good tonight.”

“Thank you,” I say as my jaw tenses.

His fingers skate over my shoulder and across my collarbone, as I turn my head towards him. I can just barely see his face in the dim light from the street filtering through the sheer curtains. He’s looking up at me through dark lashes, and when he brings his lips to meet mine, I feel like I could just melt into him.

But I freeze instead.

He draws his head back a little. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,”I reply, though the sound barely escapes my throat. I clear it. “No, sorry, just… I’m knackered, so…”

“‘Kay. Yeah.” He strokes the side of my chin with his thumb, just for a moment, before rolling to his other side. He grabs my arm in the process, however, pulling me onto my side towards him, as well—my chest pressed up against his back and my arm wrapped around his front.

This is new. Not in the history of humankind, but in the history of _us_. I hate to let my mind run with all the ideas about what this could mean, but it does anyway.

I tuck my head behind his and fall asleep to his steady breathing.

I wake up alone.

* * *

I’m not really one for parties, as such.

I’ve only just returned last night from visiting my family for the holidays, and yet I find myself dragged to yet another boisterous affair, this time celebrating a full rotation of the Earth around the Sun. Aren’t we blessed.

Normally I wouldn’t spend quite so much of the evening sulking in the corner with a bottle of knockoff champagne to myself, but I can’t say that I feel up to the festivities of this—or any—soirée tonight. The jet lag has hit me hard, and jet lag makes me morose. Best to distance myself from the happy people, lest I infect them. Or vice versa.

Alex is certainly in high spirits, himself. He and Nora have been dancing all night, and it makes something heavy sit uneasily in my chest. They haven’t dated each other for over a year, I know, but they have an effortlessness about them that he and I will never have. He would never put his hands on my hips like that, at least not in public. That’s one line we certainly haven’t crossed.

Yes, he’ll be flirty and affectionate with me—as he will with anyone—but that level of intimacy is reserved for our more private moments. If no one knows about it, then it didn’t really happen. Hush hush.

He barely even acknowledges my presence at this party. Nothing but the occasional glance my way and a raise of his chin as greeting. And I always reply with a tight-lipped smile that I’m sure betrays every ounce of my discomfort in this situation. I drink straight from the bottle in my hand as soon as he’s not looking.

The walk over from his place was the first time I’ve seen him since I left for England. Since the morning I woke up alone in his bed. He was cooking pancakes, and I made some excuse about needing to leave so I could pack for my flight the next day. (I don’t think he fell for it, though—he knows I’m always fully packed at least three days before any trip.)

We stayed in touch over the holidays, of course. Text messages. A phone call on Christmas Eve. A video greeting from his whole family. Very nice. Very cordial. No rude variations of Christmas carols or late night emoji conversations. Pleasant.

Not very Alex at all.

When the countdown rolls around, I’ve just about had my fill of the whole night, especially when I catch Alex and Nora locking lips at the stroke of midnight. I tell myself the roiling in my stomach is solely the result of too much to drink, and not a rush of nauseating jealousy sweeping through me.

In any case, I figure a bit of fresh air might help—or perhaps a twenty-four hour nap in my bed—so I push myself off the wall and make my exit. I don’t think I can walk to my flat from here, not in this state, anyway. But I at least want to get a few blocks of distance before I call myself a ride. Just to clear my head.

It’s cold out, and all the colder when I realize I forgot my jacket. I stop in the middle of the pavement, halfway down the road, and hang my head for a minute, trying to decide whether or not it’s worth going back.

“Sod it,” I grumble to myself as I continue on my way. It was my second least favourite jacket, anyhow.

I barely make it around the corner at the end of the street when I hear someone call my name behind me, and I freeze. Alex followed me, that complete idiot.

I turn slowly as he jogs to catch up, holding my jacket in his outstretched arm. “You forgot this,” he says, laughing like he’s out of breath from chasing me.

“Right. Cheers,” I say as I take it and put it on. It’s then I realize that he’s got his jacket on, as well. “Are you leaving already?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I’ll come with,” he says with a cheerful smile. “I’ve hardly seen you all night.”

“You’ve been busy,” I reply, and it comes out more bitterly than I’d have liked. It makes him frown.

“You know you could’ve danced with us, right?”

I bury my hands in my coat pockets and force myself to look at anything but him. “I didn’t feel up to it tonight.”

“Hey.” He takes a step closer and places a hand on my arm. “You okay?”

“Nothing. Jet lag. I’m fine.”

“C’mon, then. We’ll head to my place and you can crash—”

“I don’t… think I should,” I say hesitantly.

He frowns again. “Why not? It’s way closer than your apartment.”

“That’s not—” I take a deep breath. “I can’t keep doing this, Alex.”

“Doing what?”

“Pretending that everything’s all right with us!” I snap at him, and he recoils slightly. “I mean—No, everything’s fine, it is, but I—I’m not exactly—This is—_Fuck_.” I cover my face with my hands and groan in frustration as he stares at me like I’m speaking another language.

He grasps my arm firmly and drags me behind a nearby tree. “Henry, I—” he begins, but stops to reconsider.

“It really is fine—” I’m cut short by his lips crashing into mine, knocking me back against the tree with the shock of it. Holding my head in his hands as his mouth opens against me, it feels like this could be everything. Every promise I made to myself in the past two weeks is out the window before I can even pause to catch my breath.

I follow him back to his house, back to his room—back to his bed—and coax him to come undone with my mouth, before curling up against his back for the night.

“God, I missed you,” I whisper into his hair, placing a light kiss on his shoulder.

We fall asleep without another word and, once again, I wake up alone.

* * *

June was surprised to see me walk through the kitchen on my way out, New Year’s Day, but Nora didn’t seem fazed by my presence in the slightest. They informed me that Alex had just stepped out, but I was welcome to wait for him. I didn’t.

I did, however, text him later about making plans for the weekend. He replied with a curt _“idk yet”_ and I haven’t heard from him since. An additional two-and-a-half weeks without anyone sending me a symbol of grinning excrement. I’m not sure how to handle this.

I try asking his sister about him, but she acts as though she’s not sure if she’s allowed to talk to me. Nora’s a bit more forthcoming, and tells me he’s just isolating himself due to stress. She claims he’ll be back to his old self in no time, but that she doesn’t blame me if I want to punch him when he gets like this. I don’t want to punch him.

I don’t know what I want.

I thought I wanted to talk to him, a chance to sort this out, but when he rings me out of the blue—in the middle of a late-night _Great British Bake-Off_ series 6 re-watch, no less—it completely throws me off kilter. I almost dismiss the call entirely, but that sad, hopeless, desperate part of me that longs to hear his voice again wins out in the end.

“Yes?” I say when I pick up.

“Henry, hey,” he replies, his voice catching slightly. “Are you—Are you up? Like, I know you’re up but—Did I wake you?”

“No.”

“Okay. Good. Yeah…” He trails off, but I don’t know what he expects me to say.

I don’t say anything.

“Um, so,” he continues after awkward silence settles over us. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” I say, though there’s nothing thankful about my tone.

“Good. Right. Well, I—I, uh…”

I sigh over the fact that he has the nerve to ignore me this long and then expect me to have the patience for this. “Is there a reason you called, Alex, or—”

“I just—I needed to talk to a friend right now,” he says, sounding small and scared. I simultaneously want to hug him and hang up on him.

“Are we friends?”

“Aren’t we?”

“Friends don’t blow each other off like that.”

“Uh…”

“Not—I didn’t mean it like that!” I add quickly. “I just mean it’s been radio silence from you since New Year’s, so I’m sorry if I don’t feel the most qualified for giving friendly advice at the moment.”

“I don’t know who else to talk to about this!” he says, raising his voice a little, but not enough to wake the whole house.

“You live with your sister and your best friend, so I hardly think—”

“They wouldn’t understand. They don’t…” He stops and exhales loudly. “Look, I know Nora’s bi and everything, but it’s never been a big deal to her. It just clicked one day and that was it. She didn’t have to… struggle, I guess. Not… like this.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

“She told me.”

“Oh.”

“I know you said you, like, had a bit of hard time when you came out, so—”

My jaw tightens. “So you thought you’d call and remind me of that?”

“No, I just—I thought you’d understand, at least!”

“Alex,” I say, with a defeated softness that I’ve been lacking thus far. “Are you saying you want to come out?”

“I—I don’t know! I don’t even know if I—If I’m even—I just don’t know yet, Henry!”

“Well, if you want my _professional_ _opinion_, you certainly don’t give a blowjob like a straight guy.”

“_Jesus_.”

“Look, can we just forget labels and _coming out_ and all of that rubbish for a moment?” I rub the side of temple with my free hand. “Just, what is it that _you want_, Alex?”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but I can hear his uneven breathing over the line. “I… I don’t know,” he says, much more quietly than before.

“Well. I can’t decide that for you.”

“Right…”

“Also, I don’t think I can… do this,” I tell him.

“Do what?”

“I know it makes me a bad friend, but maybe I just shouldn’t—”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t be your ‘friend with benefits,’ Alex! I’m too in love with you and I—I can be your friend, or I can be your boyfriend, but I can’t be your dirty secret. I’m sorry.”

“Wait, wha—”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” I say, clenching my jaw again to keep my chin from trembling. “Goodnight, Alex.”

* * *

“Henry, you goddamn bastard, let me in!” Alex shouts through the intercom when he buzzes me in my flat.

I exhale in a huff and unlock the main door for him, without another word. It’s been hard enough to ignore his calls and texts for the past three days; I’m certainly too weak to turn him away at my front door. I’m not sure what to expect right now, however. I doubt he would be so persistent if he just wanted to tell me to fuck off, but then again, he’s always been quite stubborn.

When he pounds on the door to my flat, I count to three before allowing myself to answer it. He pushes his way in before the door is fully open. “I fucking hate you, you know that?” he says, pacing in my entryway.

“I can see that.” I remain standing by the door; I’m not sure how long he intends to stay, but I expect he’ll be leaving shortly. Until, that is, he takes off his jacket and throws it onto the side table—where it promptly slides off and down to the floor, taking my mail with it.

“God, you can’t just—” He drags his hands through his hair and grunts in frustration before advancing on me threateningly. “You do realize you dropped a bomb on me and ran, right?”

I shift my gaze downward and purse my lips together as guilt twinges in my stomach. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“_‘I’m too in love with you.’_ Who says that? Honestly!”

“Yes, I get it, thank you,” I reply through my teeth.

“No, you don’t fucking get it, do you?” He grabs me by the placket of my shirt and pulls me in close, so quickly I nearly lose my balance. He’s glaring at me fiercely, and I don’t know whether he wants to kiss me or punch me. Quite possibly both.

He opts for the former, though it’s aggressive enough to be construed as an attack, perhaps.

“I want this,” he says quietly, so close that his lips still brush against mine as he speaks.

I swallow. “What’s _this_, exactly?”

“This.” He flattens his hands over my chest and all the way up to the sides of my neck. “You. Us. All of it. Friendship. Sex. Love. The whole nine yards.”

“Alex,” I say seriously. “Three days ago you didn’t even know what you wanted.”

He brushes his thumbs over the edges of my jaw. “That’s because I was a major dumbass.”

“And now?”

“Just a minor one.”

I try my best not to smile at that. I fail.

“Look, Henry,” he continues, softening his face and his voice, “I’m sorry I freaked out after… I just—I didn’t want to admit how bad I missed you, too. How I missed this.” He drives his hands up into my hair and I close my eyes. “How I’ve wanted it all for too long, but thought I couldn’t have it. I thought you wouldn’t want…”

I look at him again, with a raised eyebrow. “You truly are an idiot, aren’t you?” I say, and I crush my mouth against his before he can argue, backing him up towards the wall this time and lifting him onto the table in one swift motion.

“Fuck, how’d you do that?” he asks with a laugh.

“Oh, we’ve barely scratched the surface of what I can do to you, love,” I say, before kissing his gaping mouth shut again.

* * *

Alex said he wants me to be here when he tells June and Nora about this. Us. All of it. _The whole nine yards_.

The two of them are on the sofa, with their legs tucked up on the seat between them, while I sit off to the side in a nearby armchair, and Alex perches himself on the coffee table in front of them. His knees are bouncing—with nerves or excitement or both—as he stammers his way through an introduction of the subject matter at hand. He glances over at me and I give him a reassuring nod.

“Right. So,” he continues, returning his attention to the girls. “I know I’m making a weirdly big deal of this, and it’s not really that big a deal, except it kind of is, but like, not in a bad way—I mean, it’s a good thing. A really good thing. And I want you guys to know, because you mean a lot to me, and, well, me and Henry, we’re—”

“You’re fucking Henry,” Nora says casually. “We know.”

“_What?_”

“I mean, we didn’t _know_ know,” June adds. “We just… figured… it’d make sense. Yeah.”

“But—I—You—” Alex stammers again. “You didn’t even know I was bi, though.”

Nora frowns at him. “We didn’t?”

“Well, I didn’t even know, for one thing!”

“Aw, babe, I’m sorry. It sucks being the last to know, I get it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Alex mutters, lowering his face to his hands.

I reach forward and squeeze him on the shoulder. I don’t think it’s my place to say anything just yet. He lifts his head again and smiles a little when he cuts his eyes over to me for a second.

“Just, for the record, we’re not _fucking_, okay? I mean, well, we’re not _just_, um—_Jeez_,” he says, and rakes back his effortlessly tousled hair. “Henry’s my boyfriend, okay?”

June appears delighted, while Nora just seems mildly impressed.

“Well, I’m happy for you both,” June says, smiling broadly at Alex and myself in turn.

“Yeah,” he says as he places his hand over mine on his shoulder and turns to give me his own crooked grin. “Me too.”

This right here—this touch, this smile, this moment—is definitely one of the good moments, the ones that make life not completely shit all the time.

I expect there’ll be plenty more.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find more of me and my fics and my nonsense on Tumblr as [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com)!


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